Western life sharpens the wits, if it does nothing else, and Westerners as a general thing become pretty good judges of character.

It had not taken ten minutes for the keen-witted little doctor to fathom the peculiarities of Clover's "chaperone," and he would most willingly have planted her in the congenial soil of the Shoshone House, which would have provided a wider field for her restlessness and self-occupation, and many more people to listen to her narratives and sympathize with her complaints.

But it was no use.

She was resolved to abide by the fortunes of her "young friends." While this discussion was proceeding, the carriage had been rolling down a wide street running along the edge of the plateau, opposite the mountain range.

Pretty houses stood on either side in green, shaded door-yards, with roses and vine-hung piazzas and nicely-cut grass.
"Why, it looks like a New England town," said Clover, amazed; "I thought there were no trees here." "Yes, I know," said Dr.Hope smiling.